House Plants
by Enabeans
Summary: Written for the prompt: Hypothetically Speaking. COMPLETE.


_A/N: This story was written for Kyra, for the prompt "Hypothetically Speaking"._

**House Plants**

Crowley drummed his fingers on the wheel of his Bentley, speeding along the motorway and reflecting that while it was good to get away for a while, there was no place quite like home to cause a bit of mayhem. The traffic jam caused by a seven car pile-up, leading to hours of delay, just melted past him as he just decided he couldn't be bothered to wait in it. Fishing around on the passenger seat for a cassette tape, he found one that looked fairly new. Of course, there was always that initial trepidation when he pressed play, but he was pleasantly surprised when the tape actually played what it had advertised. With Guns 'n' Roses blasting out, sunglasses reflecting the street lamps, he sped towards home.

Yes, this was a good day.

It was about to get worse.(1)

**_"Crowley."_**

The voice suddenly filled his car where there had only been Sweet Child of Mine before, and the demon did his best not to cringe at the theatrics of the voice. Honestly, it was all deep voices and bad reverb in the Pit. It made Crowley reminisce about old 70's horror B-movies, but that was a thought better kept to himself.(2) Instead, he rounded his shoulders a little and pretended to focus on the road ahead.

_**"Where have you been for the last ten days? No orders were given for a relocation."**_

"Egypt."

It might not be a good idea to piss his bosses off, but this had been too good an opportunity to pass up. There had been a world-wide public dig in one of the undiscovered Pharaoh's tombs and he had seen fit to go there beforehand and plant a few bones of his own. Alright, so maybe nobody would quite get the joke of arranging the mummies around a table and putting poker chips next to them(3), but it would confuse those pretentious archaeologist bastards. To be perfectly honest, he had been hoping nobody would notice him AWOL just for a few days - must be a damn slow day in Hell if they had nothing better to do than ruin his holiday.

_**"Crowley!" **_The voice got loud, more booming, and the bad special effects of added bass had his car shaking with the impact. Fuck it, he knew he was going to get in trouble for this, but he'd be damned if he let his car get damaged in the process. _**"You will be-"**_

Pushing the button to eject the tape and cut the inevitable bollocking off mid-sentence, he muttered something about not liking Guns 'n' Roses anyway, and threw the cassette back on the passenger seat. Mood ruined, he tried to cheer himself up at the inevitable headlines that would break the next day. Perhaps the News of the World would run some crappy tabloid story about gambling as some kind of sacred rite now it was so ~ancient~(4)

Finally pulling up outside his flat, he parked the Bentley and gave it affectionate look over his sunglasses before heading inside. A build up of mail on his doormat was unceremoniously tossed in the garbage(5) and he noted with mild surprise that his ansaphone was flashing with 5 different messages. Who could it be? He was pretty sure only Aziraphale had the number, and he had no idea what could be so important to leave five messages. Grabbing a bottle of beer, he pressed the button and flopped on the couch to listen.

_"-llo? Oh! There's the beep, I must say it was taking a long time. You ought to get your batteries checked, dear boy, it seems they're wearing down. If you're lucky there might still be a sale on AA's at Argos when you get back."_

There was a click and then the beep to signify the end of the message. Really? Crowley raised an eyebrow and looked at the machine with such a withering expression that two ants who had been nearby suddenly discovered they were capable of feeling shame.

_"Hello, just me again. I forgot what I needed to tell you last time, in the rigmarole about your batteries. Actually, now I come to think of it, Argos is a terrible idea, they've just hiked their prices up in preparation for Christmas. No, no, certainly not Argos."_

Another beep, and Crowley sighed. Putting the neck of the bottle to his lips, he drank the whole beer rapidly, having a feeling he'd need to be relatively drunk quite quickly if he had to listen to five messages about the state of his ansaphone batteries. Bloody angel.

The next message was a lot of muffled static, and Aziraphale's very distant voice, obviously not actually addressing Crowley.

_"-no, I'm sorry. I don't have time to serve you right now, madam, I'm taking a very important telephone call. Put the book back where you found it, and return another time. -I most certainly am not being rude, and I will not hang up on a business partner just for one sale. Good day."_

Smirking, the demon put the empty bottle and got off the couch to go and check his house plants. He was sure they would be alright; after all, he had made Aziraphale promise to come and water them every day and make sure to put an empty pot out if any seemed to be lacking in enthusiasm to grow. It was just as he touched the dry and almost dead leaf of his favourite hibiscus that the next message came on.

_"Hello, just me again. I have a little query for you - an intellectual problem, if you will. If a friend goes away on a holiday and asks another to look after his plants, would it really damage said plants to have not been watered this whole time..? Just if the aforementioned friend had accidentally forgotten in lieu of a brand new first edition copy of Gulliver's Travels."_

The beep that ended that message was followed by an intensely angry silence, as Crowley took in the plant graveyard that now occupied his living room. Bloody, _bloody_ angel. Grabbing his car keys, he slammed out of the door just in time to miss the final message that played to an empty flat in a guilty voice.

_"You know... hypothetically speaking..."_

_

* * *

_1. In hindsight, Crowley should have seen it coming. Demons really weren't supposed to have that much enjoyment in such a short time, it offended the Big Man in charge or something equally ridiculous.

2. The last time he had voiced such an opinion, the other demon - a pig-ugly thing called Jarvus - had given him a four hour lecture on PR and the importance of inspiring the necessary terror when going about your every day torturing.

3. Not to mention the Pharaoh himself, who he'd dressed in one of those awful tacky tourist T-shirts that said 'I LOVE CAIRO" in big red letters.

4. Joined, of course, by the compulsory Page Three girl wearing Cleopatra style make-up and not much else.

5. He got nine commendations for creating junk mail, but it was a double edged sword. Now he couldn't open his door without being invited to Donate to the Sodding Rainforests.


End file.
